


you just can't find the words

by notthebigspoon



Series: pretty when you cry [4]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you ever think about him?”</p><p>	“Think about who?”</p><p>Title taken from We Owned The Night by Lady Antebellum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you just can't find the words

“Do you ever think about him?”

“Think about who?” George blinks. Through the course of the day, in spite of the slight chill in the air, he and Tim have managed to consume an entire bag of popsicles, sugar free at Javi's insistence. At the moment, George is constructing a cabin from the sticks. He frowns in concentration as he lays another stick in place.

“Your ex. The last guy you were with. Do you ever think about him?” Javi asks. He sounds curious.

George sits up and stares for a moment. Javi just shrugs. George has spoken very little of his life before the Giants and he definitely never mentioned being with anyone. But Javi picks up on so much from the strangest things. It's one of those things that tells George that Javi really would have been a fantastic FBI agent. Still, it's a subject that George doesn't feel like covering. He shrugs and then shakes his head.

“No.”

It's a smooth, clean lie that Javi accepts because George doesn't lie about much of anything, unless it's a joke. George finishes the popsicle stick house and lets it dry before passing it off to a delighted Tim, who decorates it with help from his massive sharpie collection. Javi makes dinner because it's his turn, a lasagna that always sets Tim and George drooling the second they see him getting the ingredients out.

They eat dinner around the table and then sprawl across their massive couch to watch movies. Tim picks Kill Bill and lays with his legs in George's lap and his head in Javi's, which George thinks isn't fair because George likes playing with Tim's hair. Which is true of just about everyone so maybe that doesn't give George any kind of edge. He settles for gripping Tim's leg, lifting it up just enough so he can kiss his husband's shin before settling it down. The faint smile Tim gives him drives away any lingering bad thoughts.

When the movie is over they go to bed. There was no real plan for sex... not that they ever plan it, it just happens, but there had been an unspoken intention to just sleep. But then George had brushed up against Tim after brushing his teeth and they'd started kissing, and then they were stumbling to bed while Javi did his own nightly routine in the bathroom. When Javi had come out to see them wrapped around each other, lips locked together, Tim's hands in George's hair and George's hands on Tim's ass, he'd joined right in.

But something felt wrong. Well, not really. But Javi had put him on his stomach, pushed into him and fucked him slow while he sucked Tim off. He'd kissed George's ear and whispered something that made George get a sudden, uncomfortable feeling that he couldn't quite explain. He'd forgotten it quickly enough, hard not to with the way that Javi teased him with the agonizingly slow and steady thrusts. He'd come, moaning around Tim's dick in his mouth and swallowing when Tim groaned and came in turn.

Javi had cleaned them up, a handful of wet wipes pitched at the wastebasket before they were sprawling out on their own sides of the bed, Tim tucked up between them. Javi kisses Tim's hair, chuckles when he realizes that Tim is already asleep. He leans over to kiss George before settling down and getting comfortable, chuckling when George closes his eyes. The last thing Javi says before he goes to sleep is that he'd better not wake up with them in bed in the morning, laughing before it trails off as he falls asleep.

George's eyes snap open and he stares at the ceiling. It all comes flooding back. It wasn't the same words and it wasn't said the same way, and it definitely wasn't serious like the last time he'd heard words along those lines. But it gets to him, under his skin and into his blood until he can't even stand to be in their bed. He gets up and retreats to the other side of the room, staring at his sleeping husbands before wandering around the apartment. He feels lost, doesn't feel right at all, but he doesn't know what he's looking for. He grabs his keys and his wallet, hurrying out of their house. He needs to get out. He needs to breathe.

He doesn't know how he ends up at the bar. He was just wandering. But drinking is as good an idea as any on a night like this. One shot becomes two and then he's drinking a glass and before he knows it, the lights are all too bright and he's stumbling. He wants to go home. But he hadn't brought his phone. And he's terrible at memorizing numbers. He doesn't even know their land line number, it's programmed into his cellphone along with everything else.

He wanders the streets for an indeterminable amount of time before giving up and taking shelter on a bench under an awning, drawing his knees up and resting his chin on them. This is about as much as he deserves.

***

Tim doesn't think much of it, at first, when they wake up and George isn't in bed with him. Probably went to get a drink or something. But then Tim wakes up again and he's not there. He glances at the clock. Two in the morning. He pales. If George wasn't there the first time... he's been gone at least three hours. And they don't know where he is. He searches the house and sure enough, it's empty. He hurries back to bed, shakes Javi and tells him he doesn't know where George is.

For a few minutes, Javi doesn't appear overmuch concerned. Something must come to mind, though, because in a moment he's going as pale as Tim had, scrambling to his feet. They call George's phone only to hear it ringing on their nightstand. They look out the door and his truck is still in the drive. He and Javi both start calling around, see who he might be with. When it's past three in the morning, there's still no sign of him. No calls and no indication that anyone knows where he is.

The team is already searching for him, Tim knows. But San Francisco is huge and the likelihood that forty men will be able to find one man, even this late/early, are pretty slim. Tim and Javi had been instructed to stay at home and wait in case he called or came home. Tim paces the living room while Javi chews on his finger and stares into space. It's scary, someone disappearing like that. And Tim really wants to burn the city down, call the police, something. He feels so helpless.

When headlights swing across the living room window and a car stops in the driveway, Tim nearly falls over getting to the door. He opens it to find a silent and somber Cain leading George up the sidewalk. George won't look up, won't say a word even when Tim throws his arms around him and hugs him, first calling him a fucking moron and then saying he loves him. The smell of whiskey is overpowering.

Javi gently takes George upstairs, helps him clean up and gets him settled into bed before coming back downstairs, where Cain and Tim have been sitting in silence after Tim sent a text to the rest of their teammates to let them know George had been located. He sits down, grabs Tim's hand and squeezes, giving Cain a grateful look. “Where did you find him? Do you know what's wrong?”

“It was pure dumb luck. He was sitting on a bench... I was driving by and I glanced twice. It was him. He was crying, sort of. But whatever's wrong, he won't tell me. I think he's okay though. Doesn't seem like there's anything wrong with him except that he's hammered.”

Tim nods, hugs Cain before saying good night. He and Javi scale the stairs together. George is out like a light in bed. Even cleaned up and even fast asleep, he looks weak and worn down and miserable. Tim and Javi trade looks before sighing and pressing him up between them to sleep.

***

Since they didn't go to bed until the gray light of dawn had been breaking, Javi sleeps far later than he usually does. He groans when he wakes to see that it's noon and finds his phone loaded with messages asking what was going on last night and if George is okay. He just says that George is fine before sitting down at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee. Tim follows shortly after and they stay there, just sitting quietly until George finally makes an appearance.

He's pale, dark circles under his blood shot eyes. Javi points for him to sit down and Tim gets him a mug of coffee and some toast, probably all George's stomach can handle right now. George whimpers gratefully and starts chewing. He's halfway through his coffee before he realizes they're both watching him sharply. He flushes, stares at his plate before whispering that he's sorry.

“We're not mad. But we want to know what happened. Why did you do that?” Javi asks softly. He's telling the truth, he's not mad at George. It's just that none of it makes sense. The only thing Javi had been able to piece together was that it had to do with their conversation yesterday about George's ex. It was just a curiosity point, since Javi and Tim had been talking about their mutual exes at breakfast.

“I... you said. Last night. About hoping you waked up and we were gone.”

“... George. I said I don't know how I keep waking up to that. It was just a joke baby.” Javi answers. At this point, though, he can sense something deeply wrong. And then he remembers all the times and how long it took for George to realize he could stay all night and they actually expected him to be there in the morning. “Baby, who hurt you?”

“I... he was a pretty nice guy. And he was important and I was a nobody. So when he started paying attention to me, hanging around, I thought I was special or something. That maybe something good about me had gotten his attention. But he just wanted to get laid. Every time, I was so stupid, I kept falling for it, I thought it would be different. But every time, he wanted me gone before the morning. And when you said that..”

“If he did that to you, he's not a nice guy. Who did that?” Tim snaps.

George flinches, staring at his coffee and Javi reaches out, pinching Tim and giving him a dark look. George is suffering enough without them making it any worse for him. George swallows hard before whispering out, “Jeter.”

It doesn't make any sense to Javi. Everyone and their mother has heard stories about the kind of guy that Jeter is, ladies man extraordinaire, from one woman to another. Then again, maybe it makes perfect sense. All of it a cover to hide the fact that he's batting for the other team or maybe he really does like women but wants a little taste of something stronger on the side. Either way, though Javi has never had any feelings of either like or dislike to him before, he now absolutely hates Derek Jeter.

“George. Hon, we married you. We chose you, we want you.” Tim says it gently but firmly, squeezing George's shoulder before sitting in his lap. Javi smiles, scoots his own chair closer so he can touch but leaving the talking to Tim. “I'd think that means a hell of a lot more than some loser that plays for the Yankees.”

“You do. It's just... I thought of that and then I couldn't think of anything else. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry. Just don't do it again, okay?” Javi murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. “If we say something like that, if you feel like running, just talk to us. Tell us what's wrong. Okay?”

George nods again but he's back to staring at his lap again, not wanting to answer. Javi figures it's best not to push it and instead herds his husbands off to the living room. They curl up on the couch, George 's head in his lap, watching some game show with Wayne Brady. It's mind numbing, boring, and it does the trick in putting George to sleep. Javi sighs and strokes his cheek before glancing at Tim.

“The next time I see Derek Jeter? I'm decking him.”

“Get in line.”


End file.
